Category: Writing Prompts

Prompts are short, fun exercises that can be used to get the creative juices flowing or break the ice at a critique meeting. They start as a brief list of ingredients, forming a challenge for the writer to incorporate all of them into one self-contained piece. There are many ways to come up with prompts and each author will find a unique way to express a given prompt.

I Dragged Myself Backwards

  • by jenlight pollution works in your favor
  • took a lengthened pull at the exhilarating liquid
  • recognize these assholes out in the wild
  • maps, engraving, money, photos, stamps
  • with slowness immeasurable

Tune In Next Time Part 3                               Click Here for Earlier Installments

I dragged myself backwards toward shore with slowness immeasurable, the cinderblocks chained to my ankles digging deep into the sandy ocean floor. The zodiac lurched forward with John in the bow, brandishing the harpoon. Tessa giggled maniacally.

“Run for it!” she shrieked again, mocking me, then guffawed.

Amongst the pilings I tried to find a shadow to hide in, but the boardwalk was awash with blinking neon and apparently light pollution works in your favor when you’re a psychopath. Tessa steered the boat straight at me and took a lengthened pull at the exhilarating liquid in the flask she kept tucked in her ample cleavage.

I thought of everything that had been in the safe: maps, engraving, money, photos, stamps, diamonds — John had all of it now. John and Tessa.

If I survived the night I’d need to learn to recognize these assholes out in the wild, save myself the trouble of partnering up with them. Or worse, falling in love.

The harpoon was mere feet from my chest when suddenly Tessa yanked hard on the tiller and John toppled into the sea with a salty splash.

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Aren’t Ya Gonna Shoot Him?

  • Either way, I am quickly losing faith in the Deutschepost.k-avatar
  • wanted the reader to be kidnapped
  • “You appear to be astonished,”
  • I will deliver it by hand.
  • taken in by a pair of handsome con artists

Tune In Next Time Part 2                               Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Aren’t ya gonna shoot him?” Tessa asked.

John smirked harder, then turned a softer smile her way. “It’ll be more fun if I don’t, babe.” He kissed her.

I turned away, the sight of that smooch worse than my own imminent demise. I looked over at the old pilings, where the high-tide level was marked by the sudden absence of snaggletoothed masses of mussels and barnacles. That level was at least a foot over my head. Shit. Each lazy swell rode higher up my torso, soon they’d be lapping my chin like cold, fishy-smelling Saint Bernards.

“You appear to be astonished,” John said. “Didn’t you know what I was planning?”

“Tessa,” I said, “you don’t want to see this. Make him put you ashore.”

She shook her auburn head, smiling playfully and winking. Shit.

“John, this is stupid,” I tried. “It’s like sending a ransom note when you wanted the reader to be kidnapped. How are you going to pull this off without me?”

“I have the map, moron!” John called.

I shrugged. “Unless you don’t.” I always was the better poker player. “I knew you had the combination to that safe, so I took some precautions. Of course, now I don’t know if the original made it back to me, or if the phony was misdirected.” Another shrug. “Either way, I am quickly losing faith in the Deutschepost.”

John laughed. “Nice try,” he said.

Tessa huffed and folded her arms, buoying her cleavage like the inflatable speedboat she sat in. “Why’d I hafta get taken in by a pair of handsome con artists? It’s gettin’ cold out here, John, just shoot him already.”

John grumbled, but to my horror he raised the harpoon gun and took careful aim.

Click. The weapon didn’t fire.

“Run for it!” Tessa yelled.

I started hauling myself backwards, dragging the blocks chained to my feet, fighting the undertow. John tried the gun two more times, then snarled coldly, “I will deliver it by hand.” He slid the long projectile from the barrel and started the zodiac’s motor.

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I Wanted To Punch John’s Smirking Face

  • by jenagainst the shimmering water
  • Karma? What a crock of shit.
  • I had almost forgotten the treasure
  • as hilarious as you would expect
  • Yeah, this story is going exactly where you were hoping it wasn’t

Tune In Next Time Part 1

I wanted to punch John’s smirking face. He winked and said, “Yeah, this story is going exactly where you were hoping it wasn’t, and it’s about as hilarious as you would expect.”

He’d been talking so long I had almost forgotten the treasure that was supposed to be buried somewhere near the boardwalk pilings that stood out against the shimmering water like stiff dead fingers. The boardwalk was long gone, of course, along with the partnership John and I formed so many years ago, before he betrayed me and ran off with both my woman and the treasure map, leaving me for dead.

Karma? What a crock of shit. If karma existed, I’d be the one sitting in the zodiac with Tessa and a harpoon gun, and it would be John standing in water up to his chest with cinderblocks chained to his ankles as the tide came in.

He was leaving me for dead again, and it looked like this time it would stick.

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The Cuisine of My Homeland

  • k-avatarthrows sufficient light into the deep darkness
  • took you long enough
  • Indeed, the brains of anteaters
  • four years later I was born
  • I admit, this got me a little teary-eyed

The cuisine of my homeland is most unusual. Indeed, the brains of anteaters are among the less-outrageous staple ingredients. Traditional kitchens are located underground, and slithering down the muddy tunnel entrance took you long enough to work up the necessary appetite. Electricity isn’t allowed, but the bioluminescent fungus throws sufficient light into the deep darkness. Ah, the heady stench of mother’s stew, I hadn’t thought about it in so long. I admit, this got me a little teary-eyed, recounting these details to you. The most important thing to remember when cooking was not to use excessive amounts of wasp venom. Mother ignored this advice once and added three nests’ worth to her cake frosting, and four years later I was born.

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I Don’t Know Where You Get Off

  • by jenyour conventional seventy-hour workweek
  • a garbage bag full of assorted sweatpants
  • swinging your hips
  • cooking is a perpetual source of evaporation and dampness
  • plenty of caterers have used them

I don’t know where you get off swinging your hips and wagging your finger at me. So you found a garbage bag full of assorted sweatpants in the kitchen. What of it? Plenty of caterers have used them to sop up spills and wipe brows and underarms. Cooking is a perpetual source of evaporation and dampness, for both the kitchen and those who toil in her steamy belly. Perhaps your conventional seventy-hour workweek leaves you fresh as a daisy, but we caterers suffer in the swamp for our art, the art that fills your bellies.

Did I ever tell you that I once won on Iron Chef?

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The C.A.T. Pounced

  • k-avatardragging its squeaking prey into the shadows
  • attached by hose
  • seems outright tacky to me
  • seems, like, hard and stuff.
  • choked and blinded him

The C.A.T. pounced on the R.A.T., scanning us with infrared beams before dragging its squeaking prey into the shadows to be disassembled. Each Cybernetic Autonomous Tiger installed throughout the catacombs was unique. This one had exposed bronze gears in its shoulders, and was attached by hose and cable to a plate in the wall. The Robotic Accessory Tarantulas infesting the place were probably all different too, but they scuttled too fast to get a good look.

“Setting mechanized beasts to seize and devour others of their kind seems outright tacky to me,” Whinstone said. He always complained. It was like he couldn’t help it, like he was programmed to do it. I had stopped listening years ago.

“I say, it’s improper!” he persisted.

I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t heard. “Yeah, but dealing with the bot-bugs any other way seems, like, hard and stuff. Maybe even dangerous. At least the C.A.T.s won’t bother living things.”

An eight-legged C.A.T. dropped silently from the ceiling onto Whinstone’s head, and sprayed something in his face that choked and blinded him. It retracted, taking Whinstone up with it into the darkness of the vaulted passageway.

Well, that explained the complaining. And put a stop to it. Huh.

bonus points for using them in order

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Überslut666

  • by jenmummified in a sitting position
  • broadcasting their raw footage
  • I’d vote to set her adrift
  • “online BFF”
  • lunged forward upon his face

Überslut666 was my “online BFF” for, like, three whole months, but then yesterday I tuned into her cam feed and saw her having sex with my “online boyfriend,” just broadcasting their raw footage for everyone to see, and, like, she lunged forward upon his face and everything, and it was soooo embarrassing, and if it were up to me I’d vote to set her adrift on an ice floe and let her turn into an ice mummy, only her berg would be so small she’d be mummified in a sitting position!

bonus points for using them in one sentence

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Then There’s The One

  • k-avatarWendy and Peter Pan get engaged
  • endless bodies all in a row
  • It’s not an escort service.
  • come on people, we’re almost there
  • ignorant, psycho dickheads

Then there’s the one where Wendy and Peter Pan get engaged in an argument about how many Lost Boys it would take to reach from Neverland to London if you laid them out, endless bodies all in a row. Very metaphysical and macabre. Not one of the better episodes.

My personal fave is the one where they go to Hook’s lair. Hook has given up piracy and become a pimp, so the ship in the cavern is all done up with red lanterns. It’s not an escort service. There’s nothing classy about it. He makes Wendy a job offer, but jealous Tinkerbell swoops in and takes the position instead. Soon her side business of dealing dust has earned her enough to boot Hook off his own ship and take over.

Only one more season to go, and it’s all stuff I haven’t seen yet. Come on, people, we’re almost there! Our binge will be complete!

Okay, fine, wimp out after only 46 hours. I’ll finish it up by myself. Who needs you ignorant, psycho dickheads anyway!

Wait, they recast Tink? Now Peter’s a cop in Boston? And Wendy’s little cousin is moving in? Man, this show really jumped the crocodile.

bonus points for using them in order

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Never Have I

  • by jen— of course kids tell scary stories about them
  • I would have been prepared for the screams
  • my knives a blur in my hands
  • mistrusted my own senses more
  • Listening.

Never have I mistrusted my own senses more than the time I was on Iron Chef and the secret ingredient that I had to build every course of my meal around was revealed to be grasshoppers. Ah grasshoppers — of course kids tell scary stories about them, but I love them. They’re best, in my opinion, sautéd in a little olive oil and tossed with sea salt. The fact that I love this food that is generally reviled had me doubting myself strongly.

When the pedestal displaying the secret ingredient finished its rise from below the floor, and the fog cleared, I ran to collect my share of the lovely green bugs. To my surprise they were still alive. I hadn’t expected that. I felt a little guilty discussing my recipe plan with my sous chefs because it felt like the grasshoppers were watching us. Observing. Listening.

If I’d had time to think I would have been prepared for the screams of all the tiny bugs when I threw them in the blender with a chopped avocado and hit purée. The sound quickly died, along with the grasshoppers, and I left the blender whirling away as I moved on to my next dish. I wanted to show off a little, so I dumped a handful of the lively bugs onto my cutting board and went after them, my knives a blur in my hands until every last specimen was bisected and tossed into the wok along with a hefty portion of ginger root.

In addition to my grasshopper smoothie appetizer, and grasshopper ginger stir fry, I concocted a delicious grasshopper tempura, and made caramel popcorn with pecans and grasshoppers for a whimsical desert.

Suck it, Iron Chef Morimoto! My cuisine reined supreme!

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Alimony, Acrimony

  • k-avatarTiffany didn’t deserve any more money
  • has not he the true build of a cuckold?
  • stopping of its own accord
  • rolled about in uncouth positions
  • I don’t know the solar systems, but

Alimony, acrimony. Can’t be coincidental those words are so alike.

I’m going to call my lawyer first thing Monday and get it knocked way back, maybe back to zero. Tiffany didn’t deserve any more money, especially not any more of mine. If she was buying pornographic orreries then she had clearly run out of legitimate expenses.

Yet, I’m captivated by the clockwork prurience on her nightstand. I wound it when I came in, and watched as the “planets” rolled about in uncouth positions. The mechanism ran down, stopping of its own accord, and I’m staring a while longer. Venus in particular holds my attention, appropriately enough.

I know I should be leaving Tiffany alone, but she started it. She said to her new lover, Antoine, “Has not he the true build of a cuckold?” If she’s going to make those kinds of comments, then she should send them via an email account I don’t know the password for. It’s like she’s rubbing my face in it. Antoine doesn’t have the foggiest idea what a cuckold is, and Tiff knows that.

I snap a picture of the orrery and send it to my new lover, Adrienne. I’ll show it to my lawyer in person, keeping the evidence of my break-in from bloodying his electronic hands. Adrienne already knows I’m here. She’s waiting in the car. Her reply is characteristically earthy.

“I don’t know the solar systems, but it looks like something interesting is happening to Uranus.”

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